


The Secret of the Lost Crest

by zahhisio



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bromance, Contains OCs, Fluff, Gen, Mystery, Treasure Hunting, don't worry it's still largely Claude/Linhardt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:54:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26233747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zahhisio/pseuds/zahhisio
Summary: Bonded by their mutual love of Fódlan history and desire for something new, Claude and Linhardt decided to team up to form a private investigation agency. Business is slow, however... until one day, when a girl shows up with a mystery begging to be solved.“And I definitely won’t miss out on-”“On a chance for adventure, correct?”
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	The Secret of the Lost Crest

_The city of Garreg Mach could be considered as the melting pot of everyone and anyone from the surrounding regions. Surrounded by Oghma Mountains, giving it a feeling of seclusion that contrasted highly with the city’s technological progress, Garreg Mach was home to the University of Fódlan: the country’s sole public university. Founded hundreds of years ago, the university’s fame for inclusion and diversity spread wide across the country. With the large diversity from its intakes and students came the abundance of courses to be chosen, from the highly-sought Engineering to the practically unpopular History._

_The latter was exactly what Claude wanted to take. It took him days of debate and compromise with his parents just to enroll into the History program, but in the end the days spent arguing and butting heads paid off very well. From an outsider’s point of view, however, Claude’s fight might have been for naught; in the university itself, the History course did not have much of a reputation. Those entering the History course were never known for their tenacity nor interest in their subject - if anything, it was apparent that many of them were there only for the sake of the single scroll of paper that would mark the completion of their passage into the working force. Despite all the bad-mouthing directed at the course, Claude never regretted his decision to enroll in it even once..._

_Ever since it led him to meet Linhardt._

_Compared to the mooks that populate the History course, Linhardt was cut from a different cloth. Famous among the students of the university for being an almost permanent dweller of the university’s library, he was single-minded in his pursuit of knowledge, his everyday activity being immersing himself in stacks of books that specifically pertaining to Fódlan history. With his curiosity about Linhardt gnawing at him, Claude decided to approach him on one rainy day, right when the library was at its fullest. Without hesitation, in the middle of hyper-focused students busy with their own, he approached the green-haired student and attempted to make small talk only to be ignored._

_That day, he learned the hard way that Linhardt had only a fleeting interest in anything unrelated to his studies and was not compatible at all with his tendency to be a social butterfly. He did not give up, though, and after days of trying to figure Linhardt out, he finally did so with a small book on Fódlan history and a simple question: “You’re Linhardt, right? I might need some explanation on this matter…”_

_That was the first time that Linhardt finally responded to him._

_Although their first mutual encounter was rather forced and sudden, ever since then, they would sit down and discuss the intricacies of Fódlan’s history. At those times Linhardt transformed into someone else - the normally sleepy and disinterested student would have a spark of liveliness that few people got to witness, and he would positively and enthusiastically bounce ideas between him and Claude, all the while with a wide smile on his face. This showcase of mutual interest turned to a bond of friendship solely upheld by the days they spent brainstorming together, which persisted well until the end of the two’s university years._

_The end of the graduation ceremony was as crowded as it gets. Claude occupied himself with taking pictures with his parents and friends, but his thoughts wandered elsewhere._ Where is Linhardt? Did he remember our promise?

_Once he had the chance, he excused himself from his parents and took off to search for his year-long friend. He craned his neck upwards, trying to spot a glimpse of verdant green hair among the sea of toga-wearing students. When he spotted it, he realized something: it was moving towards him._

_Linhardt was looking for him too._

_They met in a corner of the university’s courtyard that was relatively less crowded than the rest of the area. Linhardt was short on breath, his hand busy wiping the sweat beads trickling down his forehead. He was not used to the crowd., but the fact that he went as far as to inconvenience himself for Claude was already enough for Claude._

_The gut feeling inside Claude compelled him to keep Linhardt by his side; after letting Linhardt catch his breath, he gave Linhardt a pat on his shoulder and an outlandish, but resolute question:_

_“Remember our promise, Lin?”_

_It did not take long for Linhardt to answer, “Of course.”_

_There and then, their paths merged into each other’s for good.._

* * *

“Oghma Station. You have now arrived at Oghma Station…”

The train settled onto the station, its brakes sighing with a sharp screech, a testament of its old age. Awakened in no time by the loud noise, Claude groggily opened his eyes. His eyes darted towards the running text displayed on the screen above the door that read “Oghma Station”, exactly as how the station’s announcer put it.

He wore the backpack he had hugged during his sleep, stood up, and walked towards the subway car’s doors, stopping in front of it. The slightly smudged window embedded in the door rattled incessantly as the train slowed down, causing his reflection to vibrate but not to the point where he could not make out his own visage. While he had attempted to dress dapperly, wearing a combination of a slightly oversized black suit and a yellow shirt that fit him to the tee, such an outfit failed to hide the fatigue in him; his baggy eyes, framed by sideburns and hair swept back like a wave, glared back at him.

The overly formal look was required - no, demanded - from him, since the event he had attended a few hours before was one of the Ten Families’ meeting. Held every month, the meeting required only the attendance of all current heads of the Families. His father, ever the most ambitious head of all, practically required his presence. Claude had no say in the matter; even when he had another activity in mind that would conflict with the date of the meeting, he would subsequently receive a sermon about how “the future leader of the Riegans” had to know the ins and outs of the Families’ dynamics, forcing him to cancel his own plans on his father’s request. 

While he had come to loathe listening to the same sermon over and over again, as well as accompanying his parents, the meetings themselves instilled a sense of schadenfreude in Claude that never failed to abate his hatred of being forced to come. Wars were not exactly the Families’ forte, but their meetings had always been a battlefield, though it was one where words, or the absence of them, held more power over any form of weapons or firearms. The one he attended a few hours ago left a particularly strong impression in his mind thanks to the actions of one of the Families’ heads; he remembered the old man’s desperate, nearly pathetic begging as he tried, and failed, to settle loans from even one of the other Families’ heads. The way he clammed up and hung his head low when Claude’s father, the last person he asked a loan from, curtly shook his head made him both giggle and worry about the poor old man at the same time.

And yet, despite these little malicious joys, his opinion remained the same: he had no intention to resign himself to a life of constant conflicts and cold wars, no love for mundane internal politics or bouts of business-related matters. A strong urge to break out of the expectations placed upon him burned deep inside his heart. What he longed for was an adventure with a sweet, sweet reward waiting for him at the end of the road. Alas, for as long as he lived, such an opportunity never showed up in front of his doorsteps. He was stuck in the path that had been laid out before him by his parent’s expectations upon him.

Seemingly responding to his wish in a mocking fashion, the door in front of him slid open. There was no one to urge Claude into moving out of the train car as soon as possible - the afternoon commute in the Oghma Station had always been relatively less jam-packed than the other stations - but Claude still promptly stepped outside the car as soon as he could, not wanting to spend any more time inside the bleak car. The rest of the walk through the tunnels leading to the way out was relatively uneventful, with him doing the same thing as always: slotting in the token at the left-most gate that would lead him straight to a rather simplistic coffee shop. The place, manned by a single barista who was a friend of sorts to him, had become his go-to place for a cup o’ joe.

“Good afternoon!” the barista beamed at Claude, hands ready to write his order. “A shot of espresso, like the usual?”  
“Make that 2 shots,” Claude said, signaling with his two fingers out. He figured he’d need the boost of energy after the shenanigans that was the Families’ meeting.

* * *

Slightly dragging his foot in his every step, his lips glued to the cup of lukewarm espresso, Claude strolled through the city on his way home. The three years he had spent in the city during his studies had made him familiar with almost every nook and cranny the city had to offer - he was no more the newcomer who could not make heads or tails out of the numerous, uniquely named streets. He had the route home memorized: from the station exit he would go straight, turn right at the corner with the minimarket towards Riegan St., and go along the path up until the fifth building on his right. It still felt strange to have a street named after his family, even more so when said street was the one he chose to live in.

Most people who pass by the three-floor building would not even give the building he lived in a second glance. It was, by all means, an ordinary-looking building tucked in-between a sea of similarly ordinary buildings that adorned the city. Even those who enter the building would not find anything out of the ordinary; while he was the son of a family in good standings, he made a point not to flaunt their riches, preferring to make it in the world on his own. 

The bell jingled merrily when Claude opened the door, seemingly announcing his arrival to the building’s denizens - not that there were many to begin with. The first floor was adequately furnished with a ceiling fan that whirred to life as soon as Claude turned it on and a coffee table surrounded by a comfy sofa on one side and an armchair on the other. A bookshelf, its content relatively empty, most of them already transferred to the upper floor’s bookshelf, occupied a good part of the room, leaving potential guests with a feeling that the room was smaller than it actually was.

For as long as he remembered, the room had always been empty, save for the times he, Linhardt, or both of them came home and wanted to take a quick break before returning to their living quarters. The silence was welcome, but silence meant a lack of customers, and a lack of customers meant a lack of requests to fulfill. Claude sighed, taking a look at the desolate room once more before throwing his empty cup into the trashcan and going upstairs.

The oaken staircase creaked ever so softly with his every step, thanks to the additional weight from his bag. Upon reaching the door, he twisted it only to find it still locked, and proceeded to pull out the key to it from his bag. With a click,the door opened, and he was greeted by the sight of Linhardt lazing around on the sofa, occupying himself with a book.

“Hello, Lin.”

“Ah, hello there,” Linhardt peeked out of his book very briefly before returning to it.

The lukewarm reaction was expected of his friend, but Claude still sighed wistfully before putting his bag down and leaning it on the coat rack as he took off his suit and hung it there. The sigh was not that of contempt - it was that of slight jealousy instead. He knew that unlike him, Linhardt had never paid attention to the affairs of the Ten Families, which the two of them were part of, despite his status as the son of the Hevrings as well. In a way, he envied how carefree his friend was, but on the other hand he never found his way of living to be of any fun. What he wanted, and what motivated him to found the PI with him, was the potential of a life of uncovering and learning secrets of the people of Fódlan along with his trusted companion, and yet, nothing came to fruition yet.

Claude headed to the kitchen, pulled out a cup from the cupboard, and poured himself a cup of warm tea. The occasional clinks from the teaspoon hitting the cup as he stirred it eased his way into what he thought would be yet another ordinary day.

* * *

Children and bedtime stories are often virtually inseparable. The fantabulous tales told by their parents a few minutes before they fell into a deep slumber often embed themselves in the young ones’ mind and make up a huge part of their personality and future ambitions. For some, it was to be a paragon of justice, admired by people across the country; for others, it was to be someone of importance, living life comfortably with anything they want within their reach. 

For Linhardt, it was to learn everything there was about the Ten Elites.

Born to the Hevring family, the subject of Ten Elites never strayed far from Linhardt’s young, inquisitive mind. After all, his father was so proud of it, perhaps overly so, that he ensured that Linhardt would know everything about their ancestors. The books and encyclopedia he bought in bulk for his only child was proof of his form of love for him. They became the way Linhardt spent his leisure time, replacing physical activities that were supposed to be commonplace among children his age and resulting in his boundless fascination towards the subject. 

He educated himself on the matter of the Ten Elites’ legacy for the very country he lived in, Fódlan. Many of them persisted throughout the ages and manifested in the form of the Ten Families - the upper echelon of Fódlan, each of them holding power over their own domain be it politics, business, or even mundane things such as goods or crops. Despite being surrounded by the Families’ influence, however, the tales of the Ten Elites were relatively obscure. Everyone knew that the Elites settled in Fódlan and bore descendants that, with enough time, became the Ten Families that governed the modern-day Fódlan. But was it all? What else did they leave? Relics? Riches? If they exist, most of them would have been lost to history, swallowed by time. 

Linhardt assumed that a lot of people were eager to spend their time to recoup their legacy and was very much certain that he was not one of them. His interest evolved into a single-minded pursuit of knowledge as he grew older, and by the time he had to enroll in the University of Garreg Mach, he had lost interest in practically everything else.

A major in History was only a seemingly thin veil for his true goal: the university’s library. Heralded as one of the most complete and freely accessible to the students and public alike, that place had become akin to a second accommodation for him. As a result of this display of an arduous pursuit of knowledge, other than that one turquoise-haired boy who occasionally dragged him around during his childhood years, he did not have a lot of people he could call friends in the university. His History peers - many of them severely lacking the drive he had - scoffed at his ‘freakish’ dedication. They still remained courteous with him, as one would know better than to get in trouble with the son of a Family, but they all knew better than to talk with him about anything other than Fódlan’s history, for he usually made his disinterest very clear for his conversational partner to see. Despite all that, Linhard was content with his way of life during his college years: going to and fro, from his dormitory to his classes and vice versa, all interspersed with numerous library sessions that stemmed from his self-interest.

That is, until he crossed paths with Claude. 

Meeting him threw the idea of never finding someone as interested in the Ten Elites as him out of the window. It was by chance, too; Claude was the one who made first contact during a certain day in the library. Without reservation, he took a seat across from Linhardt, caught notice of the books he was reading, and made small talk that only caught Linhardt’s attention when he proved his own understanding of the Ten Elites. Like a moth drawn into the flames, Linhardt managed to hold a lengthy conversation with Claude, tossing ideas back and forth. Since then, the two quickly became fast friends, their friendship persisting until the end of their studies.

As soon as the graduation ceremony had finished, Claude reminded him of a promise he had jokingly mentioned to him a couple of times during their years-long friendship: a private investigation firm. 

“We need a good start to uncover more mysteries surrounding this country of ours,” Claude would say jokingly during breaks. “And what could be better than a PI?” Linhardt would think long and heart every time Claude mentioned it, musing at the seemingly whimsical idea. While a PI firm sounded like an unstable and taxing career, he believed that the cases he and Claude would undertake would be few and far inbetween, allowing him to practically relax and surround himself with books more often than not.

He had no reason to refuse; with a handshake and a “Yes” as his answer, the Verdant Wind Private Investigation firm was born, setting Linhardt at a path that would involve him with Claude forevermore.

Little did he know then, that decision would soon pull him out of the quiet life he loved so much.

* * *

...or not, it seemed.

Business did not come easy for the duo. Without any prior reputation to build their career upon, their two-storey building, bought out by Claude, was practically their home and nothing else. The first floor, prepared adequately for guests and potential clients, was empty most of the time, while he stayed on the second floor.

In the living quarters, accompanied by nothing but the slightly cool breeze flowing through the room and a slight hint of cedarwood scent, Linhardt lay down on the couch and began flipping through the pages of the book in his hand, _‘History of the Ten Elites’_. He easily skimmed through pages after pages, delighting in the plethora of information he had seen countless times over, while his friend and roommate, Claude, was preparing a sharply scented tea which had wafted its aroma all over the room.

“Seriously, Lin?” Claude asked as he sat on the sofa, rolling his eyes at the sight of his friend lazing around, the saucer of his cup of tea clinking as he put it down. “Burying your nose in that book again?”

Linhardt did not move an inch nor look at Claude, his eyes remaining glued to the book as he replied, “I can’t help it. It’s an interesting book, and it has all these theories related to the Ten Elites.”

“You really are obsessed with that sort of thing, aren’t you? Ten Elites this, Crests that… You never changed.”

Linhardt had no reason to refute that. He returned to his book without a word, knowing full well that Claude was right, and stopped when a sentence caught his attention

“Hey, Claude.” For the first time since Claude was there, Linhardt took his eyes off the book, gesturing towards Claude who was sipping his tea. “Look at this.”

“What is it?”

Claude hurried over to Linhardt, putting the cup of tea he prepared on the coffee table nearby before craning over his head to take a look at the passage Linhardt pointed. “Despite great effort from scholars and archaeologists, physical evidence of one crest - Ernest - remains unfound.” recited him. The pictures displayed in front of him, depicting excavation sites in a black-and-white tint, were foreign to him, since he himself was not too familiar with Linhardt’s book. 

“And are you planning to be the one to find it?” teased Claude.

“Sadly, I’m not really fond of outdoor activities,” answered Linhardt matter-of-factly.

Claude chuckled and shrugged, pulling himself away from above Linhardt’s head. “Figures. Whenever I see you, you’d have your nose buried in books after books. To see you go out on your own to do anything might be a rarer opportunity than anything else.”

“I won’t deny it,” Linhardt shrugged before resuming reading his book. If only opportunity comes knocking on our door, without us having to do anything…”

Suddenly, a faint ringing echoed from two floors beneath just when Linhardt had finished his sentence. He exchanged an incredulous stare with Claude, who was just as surprised as him, before breaking into a faint smile.

“Talk about coincidences,” Linhardt noted. Claude hurriedly ran towards the stairs and went down, his stomps echoing throughout the building. Linhardt, on the other hand, took his sweet time in returning the book he read to the bookshelves, not forgetting to put a bookmark in the page he was reading, before following Claude with a relaxed gait. He had only taken one step into the guest room when the knocking on the door stopped. 

“Is this the Verdant Wind PI Agency?” a feminine voice, sweet but authoritative, asked. Before either of them could answer, the voice’s source swung the door open, revealing a young girl. She had a mature air about her; her upper-back auburn hair, tied in small pigtails with a pair of hair ties, shimmered under the afternoon sun, and square bangs framed a pair of dark-blue eyes that stared sharply at the confused Claude. Barely waiting for any sign of approval from him or Linhardt, she marched inside the room, her expression contorted by either anger or seriousness.

Realizing that Claude was too dumbstruck to answer, Linhardt took over and replied, “That would be us, yes. Do you mind coming in politely rather than smashing through our door?”

His jab at the girl’s behavior earned him a sush from Claude. “Sshhhh, Linhardt, quiet!” He blurted, still unable to fully grasp the situation. “She might be our first client!” After clearing his throat, he continued, trying to sound as courteous as possible, “I’m Claude von Riegan, and this partner of mine is Linhardt von Hevring - as he said, we are that PI agency. Do you have something to ask of us? A request, perhaps?”

“Those names…,” the girl paused. She tapped her chin, trying to dredge up her memory, before continuing. “Aren’t you two the ones who occupy the university’s library all the time?”

“Oh, so you do know us. You an alumnus too?” Claude asked back. The girl scrunched up her face, and the atmosphere became heavier. She stepped into the room slowly, her arms crossed. “Then, I’ll make it brief,” she said. She rested a hand on her hip and declared loudly, her other hand pointed at Claude and Linhardt. “I’m Ange, Ange Steinadler, and I’m here to make a request to the two of you.”

Steinadler - a name that Linhardt had never heard throughout years of studying the Ten Elites. Of course, it could have come with the Ten Families instead, but Claude’s look of confusion told him that he did not know anything about it either.

“I’ve never heard of that last name,” Linhardt voiced his concern, his eyebrow raised.

“That’s because the Steinadlers were never part of the Ten Families,” Ange answered curtly. “But with this…” she paused and rummaged through the shoulder bag she brought, pulling out a letter shortly after. “Everything might change.”

She placed the letter on the table near her and took her seat, prompting Linhardt and Claude to do the same. The two shared the sofa while Ange sat on the armchair, observing Claude and Linhardt as they stared at the letter, dumbfounded. With a look of impatience and crossed arms, she signaled towards the two to open the letter - and that they did. The paper, and its contents, seemed to be rather unremarkable, save for one detail: a Crest, faintly watermarking the paper used for the letter, that neither of them seemed to be able to recognize. It was shaped like two circles, one smaller and contained within the larger circle; three spokes jut out of the inner circle, piercing the outer circle with its length and cleanly dividing the circle into three sections. The outer circle itself had smaller protrusions on the left and right side, with a longer one topping off the upper area.

Ange waited quietly as Claude and Linhardt fussed over the Crest in front of their eyes, the paper turned upside down and all around as they tried to recognize it.

“Yo, Lin,” Claude called out to Linhardt. “Does that Crest look familiar to you?”

Linhardt took a moment to observe the Crest again, furrowing his eyebrows in an attempt to recall it from his memories but finding nothing that matched the Crest in front of him. “I’ve never seen this crest,” he said, despondent over his lack of remembrance. “While I pride myself on my knowledge of the Ten Elites, I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“According to this letter, this is the Crest of Ernest.”

Ange’s nonchalant remark left Claude and Linhardt slack-jawed and with a blank stare directed at her. 

“Ernest?!” they yelled in unison.

“The crest lost to history?!” continued Linhardt.

“I don’t know myself!” Ange put up her hands, caught by surprise by their reactions. She took the letter from Claude’s hands and pointed at a paragraph written in it. “The details should be written in the letter . I only received it this morning, I’ll have you know.”

It seemed that Ange knew nothing of importance yet, other than the fact that she was most likely meant to be the recipient of the letter. Following her suggestion, Linhardt and Claude took a peek together at the letter’s message, which read:

_To you, who bears the blood of Ernest, now is the chance for you to regain your wings and take flight._

_Resist the tides of history that swallowed you, and earn your rightful place._

The words, while simple, spurred something within Linhardt. For the longest time, the existence of the last Crest was a subject of dispute among many scholars of Fódlan; even then, no one ever came to a conclusion regarding it. He, too, was deathly curious about it - the fact that someone came to the agency’s doorsteps, bringing with her something that potentially would shed a light on the lost Crest, thrilled him. A part of him beckoned to alert the world of a discovery of such a grand scale, but another part of him wanted to sate his personal thirst for knowledge first.

“Looks like your talk about not having to do anything came true, Lin!” Claude laughed out loud whilst patting his back. Hearing his friend being happy made him happy as well.

With a firm tone that betrayed his usually lackadaisical self, he asked Ange, “Are you willing to discuss this more? Here, of course.”  
Hearing his interest put a smile on her face; she beamed just as wide as him. “Sure,” she answered with an energetic nod.

* * *

Accompanied by a fresh batch of tea Claude had made, the three started their discussion surrounding Ange’s circumstances. 

From the girl who appeared out of nowhere came out a heart throbbing story of the Steinadler family: a relatively well-off family, though not affiliated with any of the Ten Families of Fódlan, who were met with a terrible tragedy around fifteen years ago: a great fire had swallowed their house and left only one survivor: Ange. Ever the scrutinizing person, Claude immediately suspected foul play behind the incident, though she quickly denied it on the grounds of her feeling that the Steinadler never had any enemies to begin with. 

Since then, she was entrusted to an apartment complex owned by a family friend of hers, and the rest was pretty much a normal childhood: growing up and pursuing proper education as far as university. The letter, which seemed to be as much of a pathway for her to change her life as a simple prank that she overanalyzed, had only recently come at a very special date for her.

“A birthday present?” Claude asked, trying to clarify Ange’s statement.

“Correct,” Ange nodded. "For a 21st birthday present, it seemed very strange. Who sent this letter, and why?” 

She tilted her head quizzically at her own question. which embedded itself in Claude’s mind too. Why would someone go through such lengths to devise a cryptic message for someone if it was just a prank? He turned to Linhardt, about to ask for his opinion, but found his buddy mumbling to himself instead, already lost in thought all alone.

“To think that the Crest of Ernest is real…,” murmured Linhardt, hand cupping his chin and eyes staring into the corner of the room, ignoring Claude’s attempt to get his attention. “This will be a breakthrough in Fódlan history! It’s a shame that there is no more evidence than this piece of letter, though...”

Obviously new to the sight of him being too deep in thought, Ange leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at him, though Linhardt was too busy to notice that as well. “Is he talking to himself?” she looked at Claude and asked him, still in disbelief.

“Ah, please forgive his behavior,” excused Claude with a soft chuckle. “He’s a little too… invested in Fódlan’s history, you see. A case like yours definitely catches his interest, so if anything, this is a sign that he will surely help you.”

“So the rumours about him being a library dweller is not baseless,” noted Ange, a slight amusement shown on her face. Claude only let out another laugh again.

The chirp of a handphone’s ringtone resounded from Ange’s bag. Without missing a beat, she took her phone out of the bag, skimmed through the message she received, and put it back; she looked again at both Claude and Linhardt, who was snapped out of his pondering by the sudden ringtone, saying, “I just received a message from Miss Anna. I think we’ll have to go back to my place.”

“Who?” asked Claude.

“She’s the family friend I mentioned before.”

“Ah, the apartment owner.”

“You’re telling me there’s more to this mystery?” Linhardt’s enthusiasm only seemed to increase by every second - a rare display from him.

“It might be something related to this letter, so I’ll need you two to join me.”

With a spring in her step from having found the help she needed to solve her issue, Ange placed the letter in her bag, got up and started walking outside before noticing something amiss. She turned around to find Claude and Linhardt still sitting, and fumed at the sight, she yelled.

“Hey! Are you two coming with me or not?”

Claude clasped his hands, excusing himself to Ange with an awkward laugh. “Uh, we might need some time for discussion!”

“And a change of clothes,” Linhardt backed Claude up. He had a point; while Claude was partially all dressed up, there was no way he would go out wearing t-shirt and shorts, as lazy as he could be.

Ange let out a sigh and returned to the armchair, a frown forming on her face. “Ah, it's useless! It's all useless!” she shouted. Her emotional outburst unsettled Claude and Linhardt, who were less than ready to handle an angry girl, but to their relief she calmed down quickly. 

“I’ll wait here,” she told them. “Don’t make me wait for too long, got it?”

“Oh yeah!” Claude blurted, taking Linhardt’s hand and pulling him towards the stairway, “Certainly! Definitely!” 

The two promptly headed up to the upper floor, with Ange’s cold, piercing glare following them up until they disappeared behind the walls.

* * *

Linhardt usually never wore his heart on his sleeve. He’d keep a stoic look about him, whether when he was flipping through pages or talking with Claude. But now, as he picked out a plain-coloured hoodie from his wardrobe to wear outside, he could barely hide his smile - not when the discovery of the year was within his grasp. For the longest time, the Crest of Ernest was only a rambling of half-baked archaeologists that seemingly never had evidence concrete enough to prove its existence with - to have someone bearing something with the legendary crest show up right in front of him was very, very convenient for him.

Claude, too, prepared his rarely-used jacket and t-shirt while wearing a silly grin on his face. Gone were the initial suspicions he had against the girl who appeared out of nowhere. Her propositions had but one meaning behind it: adventure. Lucky for her, it was what he had in mind when he decided to risk it all, fulfill his promise to Linhardt and found the firm with him as a partner - and he would not let the opportunity slip away from him.

Both came out of their room almost at the same time, with their smiles still etched, and exchanged a long, silent gaze. Even without saying a word to one another, both of them understood just how interested the other was in the mystery surrounding the newly found Crest. What’s more, Claude had noticed how Linhardt’s normally lax eyes gleamed with excitement, and it psyched him up even more. 

“Can’t believe something like this would happen, eh, Lin?” he chirped.  
“If this girl is to be believed, it means that we are steps away from a ground-breaking discovery,” Linhardt hummed in his usual, thoughtful tone. “A chance to discover a part of Fódlan’s lost history is something that I will not miss.”

“And I definitely won’t miss out on-”

“On a chance for adventure, correct?”

Linhardt cut in Claude’s sentence, surprising him. Before Claude could answer, he continued, “We’ve known each other for so long. I know that this kind of adventure’s right up your alley. If you think about it, it’s win-win for the two of us.” He paused, then spoke again, looking surprised, “Oh! And the girl, of course. Don’t forget that technically, we’re doing this for her.”

Linhardt had never been close to so many people, but Claude was an exception - and that exception allowed him to understand his friend’s thoughts very well. He knew that Claude was just as excited as he was, if not more, for it was the sort of adventure that he had dreamed of when their partnership was first established.

Knowing that the two were on the same page lifted Claude’s spirits. What surprised him more, however, is the fact that behind Linhardt’s lackadaisical attitude, he never forgot about him - or, at least, what he had always wanted out of the PI firm. Despite their friendship, he had always seen Linhardt as someone who was uncaring of many things other than the history books he read so many times. Now, that notion had been broken to pieces, and Claude swore that he could tear up there and then. 

Trying to get away from the thought of being in tears, Claude guffawed and slapped Linhardt’s back, making him cough a few times as Claude slung his arm around his shoulder. “It’s a win-win indeed,” he said, right next to the ear of a wheezing Linhardt. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, and we’ll see where it will lead us.”

Linhardt nodded firmly. A few moments later, a voice from the floor below resounded, a hint of impatience in it. 

“Are you coming or not?” 

“Good grief,” Linhardt said, playfully pushing Claude away from him. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who are eager”

The two shared a laugh and headed towards the stairs with Claude leading the both of them looking forward to the adventure of a lifetime waiting outside.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaaaand here we are! The first chapter of a Claude/Linhardt fic (with a dash of OC!)
> 
> A mystery/treasure hunt fic is definitely something new for me. Until now, what I mostly wrote are all FEH fics... and here I am now, writing for 3H and only 3H! I hope that I can do the pair justice in this fic, and keep your eyes peeled for more chapters! (I can't promise a regular update schedule though, sorry... work life) 
> 
> Oh, for the illustration, go check out @__alayyae on Twitter! She makes kick-ass art.


End file.
